Adorable Red
by Lady Lorelai
Summary: The magic of Christmas may turn somethings into reality. Summary sucks almost as much as the story itself. RoChu, ONESHOT


Oh, well... I tried. I swear I tried. But NO-ONE would let me write in peace! T-T So, instead as a Christmas fanfic, I guess this one here should be considered a Happy-Brithday-Ivan fic. *sigh*

But anyway… I hope you guys enjoy it~ ^^

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Hetalia or any of the character depicted. I wish I did, though. T^T

THIS CONTAINS **YAOI**. In other words, BOYxBOY, BOY'S LOVE, or HOMOSSEXUAL GUYS. So please: don't like it? Don't read it, don't flame it. That's what the "Back" button is for.

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"Hahaha! So we're done for today! Merry Xmas, everyone!

That was the horrible, high-pitched cry that announced the ending of that day's meeting. The annoying American who had just finished presiding it skipped happily towards the door, making the tiny festive rattles placed around his neck jingle all at once. But a strong arm detained him. It was Ludwig's, and he didn't look pleased.

"Vhere are you going?"

"Hahaha, I'm heading home! I'm gonna learn to make some kind'a turkey gravy or somethin' for the Xmas supper next week, and-"

"You can't."

"What?"

"I said _you. Can't_. You are not to break your word, American. We STILL haven't decorated the meeting room for the upcoming party. Remember? You said it would be alright for us to do it, so, we WILL do it, _verstanden_?" This last word was pronounced with such a tone that made the said American jump slightly, even though he didn't catch the meaning of it. He laughed again, nervously, and looked round the room. Each and every one of his fellow nations was staring back at him, either confused, or plainly angry for that sketch of a betrayal. The gentler ones displayed a face that suggested hurt. Because everyone knew very well how Alfred could (and would) do anything to avoid any form of tedious work. In fact, he'd been delaying this process for the past couple of meetings, even if the orders to set up the room had been given with quite the comfortable heads-up. The reason for this was the economical crisis and all the effects everyone had to handle. Since all around the world measures were being taken as to save as much money as possible, it was decided that the World Meeting's Christmas celebrations would be organized entirely by the nations themselves.

The brisk German intervention caused a rather uncomfortable silence, and so they began carrying boxes full of decorations, unpacking the ornaments and placing them around the large room. Once the tense atmosphere was broken, and the formalities, forgotten, though, by what seemed like a general consensus everyone allowed themselves to be "infected" by holiday joyfulness. Poland was the first one to dare laughing aloud, but, after him, many others did, as well as crack an occasional joke or pun. Soon enough the room was filled with laughter and casual, mirthful conversation, and even Norway could be spotted humming a Christmas carol as he travelled through the flow of busy people.

In the midst of the commotion, China could be found hiding away in between the small crowd that got together and took charge of setting up the tree. It seemed quite easier, and more discrete, to remain tucked away by a corner of the salon (for there was not enough room to place it in the middle of it), instead of working on the flamboyant decoration used on the ceiling, for instance. That part was handled by France, and a couple of other loud nations, such as Denmark, and, particularly speaking, China was almost glad they did, because being occupied with such a grand task would prevent them from bothering the Chinese, and he would, for a change, be left at peace.

Or so he had thought, innocently. But that was before he noticed he had a quiet stalker.

There was a presence that seemed to be everywhere he turned his eyes to. He could infallibly feel he was being followed around, and, what's worse, feel that a pair of eyes was incessantly fixed on him while he attended to his tasks, as if watching his every move. This went on the whole time they spent with the line-up, and, as Yao later on figured out, it wasn't much different from what he usually felt during the meetings, in a – and he shivered to remember -, a disturbingly regular basis.

All and all, he just shrugged it off and kept dusting the glass angel-like ornament in his hands, minding his own business. Time passed, and, by the beginning of sunset, the room was so beautifully arranged that it looked like a winter wonderland. One by one nations left, and, when Yao got his bearings, he was standing there alone, with yet one task at hand: to organize his papers and head home. When he was finished (because China liked his papers neatly selected and arranged inside his case), it was almost dark, and he hurried to the exit. But, when he was facing the double doors he had just closed, and in position to turn the key and lock it, a soft, childish voice was heard by his back.

"China~ Wait, comrade!"

Huh?

"O-oh… I didn't know you were still here, Russia, aru."

The tall man ran up to him, and chuckled light-heartedly. "Well, I am, _da_?" And he glanced at Yao thoughtfully, before diverting his attention to the key he was holding. "But, wait, China, don't lock the room yet; there is something I was told to do before leaving!"

"Yes? And what is it?"

"Here." He fidgeted around his pocket and took out a delicate branch of mistletoe. The smile grew on his face. "This, my little comrade. Coke-addicted guy told me to put this under doorframe, _da_?."

Yao did not like being called "little" comrade. And he was in such a hurry to go home already; facing a four-hour long meeting was not that easy at his age. He nonchalantly interrupted the Russian with a swift motion to re-open the door. "Go ahead, aru."

Ivan continued smiling; apparently, he hadn't noticed the undertone. As China stepped aside, allowing the Russian to enter the room, he took the other's place under the doorframe, and, since he was already tall enough to reach the highest beam, it only took him finding a hammer and a nail inside his seemingly bottomless pocket to get the work done. It was rather simple: one strike against the tiny branch got it pinned to the wood, and that humble accomplishment was enough to make Ivan smile even wider, for a moment. And then he glanced again at Yao, as if urging him to do the same.

The Chinese didn't know exactly the reason for his reaction; perhaps the joy of Christmas had gotten him slightly drunk. But the fact is that he smiled in response, truthfully, in a way he didn't recall doing for the longest time. Seeing this, Ivan became even gladder, and he motioned for Yao to come closer. "Come here for a moment, _da_, comrade? Let me show you what Coke-addicted guy taught me." China, though a little uneasy, stepped a little, little closer to the Russian. He was a curious soul, after all, and affected as he now was by Christmas, he desired to know everything he could about the holiday. Because he didn't understand it thoroughly. Actually, he didn't understand one bit of Christmas, other than the spirited family gatherings.

"Hum, yes, aru? What is it?" He asked, a bit too conscious of the small distance between them.

"He said someone told him it was symbol of peace, and that, when you get together with someone you care under it, you have…" And he motioned the Chinese to lean closer, as if he were about to share an important secret. "…you have right to kiss that person."

Having said that, he, himself, leaned in until their lips touched lightly. It lasted for a couple of seconds, plenty of time for Yao to draw a reaction, but he didn't. He was pure shock; every muscle of his body seemed to have frozen by that icy brush, and he couldn't find his bearings even when Ivan pulled away and stared down at him with loving eyes. Yao could only stare back, wide-eyed. And this made the Russian chuckle serenely.

"You know, comrade." He said, raising a gloved finger to gently caress China's cheek. "Red really suits you. It looks lovely."

And all Yao could do was to touch his other cheek with a trembling hand. It burned against his skin.

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Footnotes:

1 - This "someone" Alfred mentioned is either Berwald or any other Scandinavian nation. I've read some interesting stuff about mistletoes on this website:

http: / landscaping . about . com / cs / winterlandscaping1 / a / mistletoe . htm (remove the spaces)

I suggest reading it!~ ^^

2 – I know it sounds foolish that Yao has never heard of it, as well as Ivan, but I thought it'd be cute. =| Please forgive me if anyone finds this stupid… ;;

3 – _verstanden _- "understood?", according to Google Translate. xD

4 – Haha, please don't kill me for Ludwig's and Ivan's accent. I tried my best at them, anyway, even if they failed. ;D


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